Bloody Christmas
by gopie
Summary: Angel receives a package. :: WARNING: Dark fic! at least the first chapter. Hints of Wesley torture :: WIP.
1. Look At Me, See Me

(Warning: Dark fic, graphic goriness)

Title: Look At Me, See Me

Flash.

"Hey, Angel. Where's Wes?"

"Oh, Gunn. He said he's going to his parents this Christmas."

"Are you sure it's such a good idea? I mean"

"I know what you mean, but… he wanted to go. Said he had to take care of a few things."

Flash.

"I brought everyone presents!"

"Hey Cordy. Ooh, is mine the big one?"

"Gunn, size doesn't always matter. Anyway, I got one for Wesley but I just remembered that he wasn't here."

"Don't worry. We'll just keep it here until he comes back."

Flash.

Flash.

"To Us."

"And to Wes, with whatever issue he's resolving back in merry England. Stay strong, man."

"He'll always have a family waiting right here, ready to welcome him home with open arms."

Flash.

Flash.

Flash. pzzztt. "I think that's it."

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"So who was at the door, Cordy?" Angel asked her as he was putting away the last of the wine glasses.

"Oh, just an express delivery guy. There's a package for you." Cordelia showed Angel the small package in her hand and Angel went to take it from her. "Ooh, is it from a secret admirer?" She said as she tried to take a peek as Angel was opening the package.

"Cordy." Angel said as he moved away for some privacy. Cordelia let out an exaggerated huff but not really angry, and went to the reception area while saying things like "fine" and "whatever".

Angel smiled at her behaviour and continued tearing away at the brown wrapping. Under it was a plain rectangular box with the words 'Have A Merry Christmas' in small letters on the front.

Angel was instantly curious and opened the box slowly. Inside he found a deck of postcards. He flipped the box over, taking out the entire deck and turned it right side up, casually dropping the forgotten box onto the floor. The first was a black postcard with only the words 'How was your Christmas?' in small white letters in the middle.

Angel thought that it was a strange package to receive but shrugged it off and moved that postcard to the bottom of the pile. The next one was the same but had a different sentence; 'I hope you had fun.'

By this time Angel felt that something was not right but he couldn't figure what. He almost didn't want to know what the next one said but forced himself to continue.

Angel felt like a heavy burden was put on top of him when he read the next simple words: 'We sure did.'

Slowly with dread tugging at his heart, Angel held the corner of the postcard and moved it out of the way, revealing what came next.

The atmosphere suddenly fell to sub-zero levels and everything else around him turned to darkness. Angel felt himself choke and his eyes widened at what he saw.

It wasn't another postcard, but a photo. Of Wesley.

"Angel, what's wrong? Angel?"

But Angel didn't hear her. His mind only registered the photo that he was holding in his hands.

The tight shots showed Wesley with a blindfold on, sitting on the floor in a room with stone walls. His hands were chained to the wall above him, one higher than the other, making his body lean slightly to the right. His face was bruised, his lip was cut and his earlier sharp clothes were now in tatters and heavily stained with blood. His mouth was slightly open like as if he was having trouble breathing and his body gleamed with sweat.

Even without smelling him or seeing his eyes, Angel could see the fear in him.

Angel didn't realize that he was gripping until he heard a gasp beside him. He turned to see that Cordelia was right next to him and also saw the photo. She became speechless with horror but Angel couldn't force himself to do anything about her. He turned back to the photo.

Carelessly, he threw that one and it fell to the floor, revealing more ghastly photos. Angel went through them in quickening pace. One by one, the pictures showed various close-ups of Wesley – his bloodied ear, his gasping mouth, his shoeless left foot… until the next few resumed to postcards. Angel stopped then slowed his pace as he read each one with careful deliberation:

'Isn't it ironic…?'

'What do you call'

'a Watcher'

'who can'

'no longer'

'Watch?'

Angel looked at the last postcard which was the second last item in the deck and suddenly felt a single tear run down his face. Angel felt and knew that the last one was the final photo; he just didn't know if he had enough strength to reveal it. He held the edge of the photo and let the postcard on top slip down.

The last picture chilled Angel's bones and reduced everything to silence.

Wesley was still where he was, in the same position as in the other photos. But this time the blindfolds were off and his eyes were closed. But angel knew that he would never see them open again because slithering down Wesley's faces was a vast amount of blood that streamed down his shirt and lead from the bottom of his closed eyelids. His eyes – Angel knew they were gone. He stared at the red dripping word that was carved deep on Wesley's forehead as the conclusion to the sick joke:

'Ex-Watcher'

Angel felt sick.


	2. No Evil

**Author's note:** Changed the title and making that the chapter 1 title. My sis says that chapter 1 is such a climax that everything I write afterwards would just bland up the story and I agree; I don't think I can top it after that. But I can't keep myself from writing more. So if you don't want to ruin it for yourself, don't read any further. Think of it like Angel's last episode when the screen just blacked out - no conclusion, and the rest is up to your imagination. But for those who would like to see where I go with this, I give you…

**Chapter 2: No Evil**

Two days have past. Two long hard draining days.

And it's two days too long, Angel thought. As soon as Angel saw the photograph, he did everything he could to find the bastards who did it. He called Gunn and Lorne to find out anything they could with their contacts. This is Wesley, he remembered saying.

He found out that the delivery service that sent the package didn't exist and Cordelia unfortunately never saw the guy's face clearly. Wesley's packed suitcase was still in his apartment along with his passport so he never made it to England. He never even made it home before those worms snatched him.

The others were still out doing the best they can, but it wasn't good enough. Nobody's seen or heard anything suspicious or out of the ordinary. Angel didn't want to give up but all his leads led to dead ends. He hadn't slept ever since that night but he couldn't give up now. Not while Wesley was still out there god knows in what condition.

Angel fisted his hands tighter in the empty office room. He sat solitarily in the dark, not wanting to go out. He couldn't trust himself enough not to hurt the first person he saw. Then he heard someone carefully open the door.

"Angel?" Cordelia said softly as she leaned against the doorframe. Angel tilted his head and looked at her from the dark, taking in her tired and disheveled appearance. She also had been looking non-stop for any information they could get, but it in the end amounted to nothing.

"Angel, are you ok?" she asked gently. Angel looked at her with sadness. He knew she was exhausted to the point where it would break her soul.

"Cordy, go home." he said.

"What?" She said as she entered the room. She still spoke softly, evident of how close she was to the brink. But still her voice held strength. "Angel, Wesley is still out there. I can't-"

"Yes, you can." Angel stood up. "Yes, I need you, Cordy. But I can't have you walking around here half-dead. Go home, get some sleep, and come back tomorrow. I need you alert."

It was a while before Cordelia spoke and it looked like she was about to protest as she puffed up her chest but suddenly she said, "Fine." She looked like she was holding back tears but she continued, "But I'm coming back first thing tomorrow, and you bet your ass I won't stop until we find him." It seemed like she was about the say more but decided not to as she tersely turned around and walked out the front door, leaving her things behind.

Angel watched her go and after she left, went back into the office. He sat back down and put his head in his hands. All his people - they were suffering, because they were with him. He knew what was happening to Wesley was his fault. Because Wesley believed in his mission and fought by his side when he could have just walked away.

In the dark Hyperion hotel, an isolated sound was later heard, coming from the office. Hiccups of tears as Angel cried softly into his hands. He laid his head on the table and closed his eyes, and he slept into a dream of nightmares.

-----------------

"_They were following me  
__They were following everyone  
__They had visions of me  
__Holding hands, walking into the sun"_

Angel woke up to the sound of music resonating into his ears. Shaking off his drugged state, he got up and moved cautiously from behind the desk.

"_Take a picture of me  
__And show it to everyone"_

He walked slowly out the office and towards the source of the music.

"_No more pictures of you  
__No more love, no more setting sun  
__Now people get down, people get down  
__People get hurt"_

In the middle of the lobby floor was a cassette player, playing the song softly. He walked up to it and picked it up.

"_When you did it to me  
__I was already in the dirt"_

Angel pressed the stop button and the silence echoed mockingly.

His eyes looked around the lobby and then they fell upon an item waiting by the front doors. It was another package.

Angel never knew his soul could feel as heavy as it did that moment.

He slowly moved forwards, up the small steps that seemed to go on forever and yet not far enough before he was suddenly in front of it. It was bigger than the first one, bulkier, but with the same familiar brown wrapping. And on top of it all, was an envelope.

Angel picked the envelope up first. He turned it around it his hands and opened the loose flap, taking out the folded piece of paper inside. Dropping the envelope, he held the paper opened in both his hands, and slowly, read what was written:

"_**The ghosts of Christmas spirits visit you."  
**_

By this time, Angel knew that the innocent words were not to be taken lightly, and he was afraid of what the real message behind it was. Pocketing the letter, Angel got on his knees to open the package. He tore at the brown wrapping, the sound loud in the empty hotel. When that was done, a simple box was left before him.

Angel opened the top lid of the box and the first thing he saw was another written message, this time more like a poem, with something else silk-covered under it. The words of it stared right at him:

"The night before Christmas,  
They wander your home.  
One by one,  
They come alone.  
To the greedy and the wicked,  
They bring along a moral -  
Give to the needy,  
Be generous to all.  
Two days ago,  
That's when it happened last.  
You've been visited  
By the ghost of Christmas past.  
Don't be so sad,  
You knew it will come.  
Your life will be haunted  
As penance of what you have done.  
The clock is ticking,  
It's the now that you resent.  
There's been a visit  
By the ghost of Christmas present…

Now isn't that nice?"

Angel crumpled the paper as soon as he reached that last line and threw it as far away from him as possible. He calmed his ragged breathing to a stop and resumed his attention to the box. There was still something else in there.

Angel took hold of the sheet of silk and lightly revealed what was shielded beneath.

It was a figurine. Three, actually, but attached as one. They were monkeys. It would've been humorous, if it wasn't for the fact that he knew what it symbolised. One covered its eyes, another covered its ears, and the last covered its mouth.

I see no evil.

I hear no evil.

I speak no evil.

The first two were drenched in red paint.

Suddenly the cassette player switched on automatically on full blast and the phone started ringing. Angel cursed and covered his ears in momentary surprise, got up to where he left the player and switched it off. He threw it against a far wall and it broke into several useless pieces. The insistent ringing of the phone brought Angel back and he almost rushed to pick it up.

"Who is this?" Angel growled.

There was a slight pause before the person on the other side said, "Mr. Angel?"

Angel allowed himself to calm down before answering. "Yeah?"

"Hello, we're from the Mary Jane's Hospital." The man said more confidently. "We have a man here named Mr. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and he has you as his emergency number. We'd -"

As soon as Angel heard Wesley's name, his guts felt like it was tied in knots. "How is he? Is he ok?" Angel asked quickly.

The man was quite for a moment before he answered. "He's… alive." He said after a slight hesitation. Then more softly "I'm sorry, sir. We need you to fill out some forms. Can you come right away?"

Angel looked around the empty hotel and his eyes rest upon the box, the figurine still inside. He took a small breath.

"I'm coming."


	3. Half Empty

**Chapter 3: Half Empty**

It smelt like death.

Not the whole hospital, but the floor that he was on. It was filled with grief and anguish, pain and sorrow. People around were crying, shouting, or had just given up. It felt like the floor for the hopeless, where patients were just that – patiently waiting for Death to finally darken their doors.

Angel went to the woman behind the desk who was busy typing away something on her computer while chatting animatedly on the phone.

He cleared his throat. "Hey, um… I'm here for someone: Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

Instantly the nurse stopped all what she was doing as if shocked and turned to look at him, the person on the line completely forgotten. Angel felt her heartbeat quicken as she stumbled with her words. "O-oh my; th-that guy? He's um…"

"In room 303." Said a deep voice. Angel turned to see a doctor. He was tall with brown wavy hair and had a little stubble growing. He held out his hand. "I'm Dr. Damien. You must be Mr. Angel."

"303?" Angel asked.

"Yes." The doctor said, putting his hand back down after it looked like Angel wasn't going to shake it. Angel started to look for the room and the doctor tried to keep in stride.

"We received a call earlier today." he rushed. "No name, just gave the address. He's in very bad condition but he'll make it. Mr... Mr. Angel…Mr. Angel, stop!"

Angel turned around sharply to stare at him. The doctor paused to regain his breath and said, "When he was brought in, he was in very bad shape. Someone had deliberately done this to him. His eyes were… they're gone."

Angel's features softened. He couldn't say he knew as that would make the doctor pose more questions or probably call the police, but it was hard hearing it again from someone else's lips.

The doctor referred to his clipboard and continued slowly as he tried to make Angel understand. "They were extracted quite viciously, which lead to bruising and internal bleeding in the socket. There is a possible high risk – no, certainty – that putting in glass eyes would cause infection and further problems, which is very inconvenient." Angel looked at him blankly, but he continued, "They are also now very vulnerable to even the tiniest ray of light even with his eyes closed and to avoid…"

"What crap are you talking about?" Angel finally said.

"His eyes will need to be blindfolded, daily." The next words came hard for the doctor but reluctantly he said, "And they will need to be stitched closed to stop him from opening them, a good chance permanently. We could give a sedative which would numb the muscles around the eyes but that would last a few hours at best."

Angel roared and let out his frustration onto the wall, which cracked moderately under the beating.

"What else aren't you telling me." Angel demanded, turning back to the doctor.

The doctor rubbed his eyes and said, "He has also experienced severe acoustic trauma - his hearing had been exposed to extreme audio frequency levels that resulted in his eardrums bursting." He took a small breath before saying, "He's also deaf, Mr. Angel."

Angel couldn't listen anymore. He turned away from the doctor and frantically searched for Wesley's room number, past people in the corridor who were lost in their own grief and doors upon doors that were not the right one.

Finally, he found it; the numbers staring at him with finality. Angel took a deep breath, and stepped forward. He opened the door slowly and walked into the room. It felt like a different world in its darkness and chilling stillness. Then he saw him.

"Wesley." He whispered. Wesley was lying on the bed. Everywhere on his body there were cuts and bruises, the deeper one covered in bandages, and there was a lot. Angel felt his eyes moisten when he saw his face, forcing himself not to look away. Wesley's eyes were covered and bandaged;there were stitchesin front of his left ear to his cheek and next to his right eye. And the carving on his forehead was as bold and mocking as it had ever been.

Angel walked up to the bed and sat on the chair beside it. He didn't know what to do. Timidly, he reached for Wesley and gently touched his shoulder.

Wesley instantly sat up. "Oh, god. No, no. Please, stop-" he said coarsely.

Angel got up. "Wes, it's me." He pleaded.

"No! Please don't – unh-" Wesley grunted as he tried to get away.

Angel tried to calm him and hold him down before he hurt himself any further. "Wes. Wesley! Wes…"

_He's deaf._

Angel grabbed Wesley's thrashing hands and gripped them in his, holding them close to his face, hoping that their coolness would make Wes realise that it was him, and that he was safe.

Wesley stopped struggling. "Angel?" he asked fear-filled with child-like innocence.

All Angel could do was hold his hand tenderly.

After a while, Wesley began to calm down and his ragged shallow breaths slowed to deep steady ones. He leaned back on his bed, his left hand still holding on to Angel's right. Wesley turned his head away, but his hold on Angel became tighter as he reveled silently in this tiny reassurance. The grip was strong to the point of hurting Angel, but he let him be.

In his world of permanent darkness, all he had left was the feeling of touch.

"I'm sorry, Wesley."

But Wesley couldn't hear him. And he never will.

-----------------------

After a few minutes had past, Angel heard someone come in. He stood up slowly, but never left his eyes off Wesley. "You must be Mr. Angel. I'm sorry for disturbing you at a time like this…"

"Where's that other doctor?" Angel turned around. Wesley tightened his grip at that moment and Angel gently placed his hand to tell him that he wasn't leaving. He turned his attention back to the doctor.

"I'm sorry, other doctor?" he said.

Angel frowned. "Yeah, Dr. Damien."

He looked worried. "There are no Dr. Damiens working in this hospital. I'm the only doctor on Mr. Wyndam-Pryce."


End file.
